The One I Love
by Zoorzh
Summary: He comes nearly every week. Ed finds himself in love with a monster. Envy x Ed


Hi people! This sis my first FMA fic, so please forgive me if the characters (Envy and Ed, that is) are overly OOC. Hope not, but I won't start rating my own stories. Alright, so this is YAOI. Don't like, don't read. There is a lemon, but not a very detailed one. I won't go into little things. The pairing you know, and this is from Ed's point of view the whole thing. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review if you did. Thank you!

Note: This has been edited. Previously there were a lot of typos, but I've fixed them now (though the fic still isn't perfect).

Disclaimer: unfortunately I'm not the owner of FMA :(

The One I Love

He's looking at me through the window. I think he's smiling, or smirking more likely, I can't really say because of the rain. He's just so cruel. One night he's fighting me, the next his on top of me, making love to me. He's so cruel. I hate him. And I love him, I think. I'm not a hundred percent sure though, because mostly, he makes me feel enraged. But then, there are times when he makes my heart flutter. Mostly when he's making love to me. He leaves me feeling… drained. Dry. Empty. It's so wrong - us, I mean. This thing. Everything about it is so wrong. This thing - I can't call it a relationship, because it's not one. We just fuck. We kiss. We argue and curse each other. I don't know what this thing is all about. It makes me feel passionate. And hateful, towards both him and myself. I can't stand myself these days. He makes me feel awful, so hollow and weary. I hate him so much, but even then, shamefully I have to admit I find myself fantasizing about him. And every time he comes and goes, I feel worse each time afterwards. I loathe myself and my mind. But I can't even cry. I can't. I don't know how to. I'm not used to it, and it has never even made me feel better, no matter what people say. And besides, he might be watching me. I can never tell. He hides himself so well.

I really don't know what to think about this. He's there again. Outside my window. He sits in a tree, less than five feet away from the glass. I walk closer and he grins smugly. He's disgustingly arrogant, but I never get enough of him. Even now, as I go through every little reason and argument why I should not open that window, I shiver and my body automatically starts feeling hot. He's so close to me right now, but I know we're a thousand miles apart really. Emotionally. In this world, and this time, and this place. I know he would never love me. I know it because he never forgets to remind me. He's so cruel and merciless with his words. He hurts me worse with the things he says than with the strikes and the bruises he gives me when we fight. And those egotistical sneers and smirks, no matter how much emotion I ever think I see in his eyes, whether it be positive or negative, behind it he's blank. He doesn't have a heart or a soul. At least that's what he says.

But, if that's the case, then why does he so eagerly torment me? What does he get from it? If he doesn't feel anything, then why? Why does he keep me around time after time? He could've killed me any time after we'd slept together. But instead, he merely leaves quietly (or sometimes not so quietly), only to return a few weeks later. He wants me. I don't understand why. When we fight, he always says he hates me, but then, later he comes to me to lick my wounds. Literally. Sometimes he says soothing things. But it's only a game for him, I'm sure. He's cruel that way, completely twisted. First he smacks me, and then he grabs me. Even thinking about his kisses makes my face flush. Even right now, as I slowly take my steps towards the window, I can feel the heat rising on my cheeks.

And I feel like crying, because I know he'll never love me. He'll never care for me. If I died right now, he wouldn't shed a tear for me. He'd simply leave and go find another bitch to bother. I think I love him, I'm pretty sure I do, but I could never tell him, and it makes me feel so shattered and empty. It makes me hate him. I can't comprehend how I've come to feel so strongly towards him. He doesn't have many good traits. I detest him for the things he does to other people just as much as I do for the things he does to me. What I do with him, what I feel for him, I can only blame myself. But the other things - killing, torturing, I don't even know about most of it - I can't forgive him. But somehow it doesn't seem to matter whenever I'm alone with him.

He's horrible, he's vulgar and self-centered, and he's… just who he is. He's himself. He doesn't try to be anything but who he really is. A heartless bastard, a soulless monster. I'm a hypocrite compared to him. I go and say many things, but how many of them have I been able to hold on to? Sometimes, without him even trying, his presence makes me feel worse about myself than him. He likes it. He likes it when I cry out his name like a whore.

No one knows about what we do, and that's the way it should and will remain. I wouldn't tell even Al, and I know he won't tell his homunculus companions either. This is how it'll be until the end. A secret. This is how it will stay 'til the day one of us kills the other. I have a feeling it's going to be him who'll be doing the killing. It's appalling, but I'm starting to feel like I couldn't kill him even if the opportunity ever rose. And it's because I'm falling for him. I can't help it. I crave his touches. That's why right now I'm opening this window. He's kind enough to wait and not just brake the damn thing. It's happened before, but after a few times, it got quite hard to explain to Al, so he refrains from doing it. At least he's got that much sense and manners.

So the window is open now, and the cold wind blows inside and the cool air makes me tremble. A few raindrops find their way in with the wind, wetting the floor of my bedroom slightly. I thank my stars that Al's away in Risembul. If he was here, it'd be even more painful for me when I wake up in the morning. I'd feel even guiltier, making love to our worst enemy while my little brother's present in the building.

I call it making love because I'm at the point where I can't deny it anymore—I love him. And sometimes he's tender. Not often though. I prefer it when he is. Times like that, the whole thing feels much more… worth it. I mean, it's never really worth it, I just end up hurting myself a lot more each time he touches me, but when he's gentle, I can at least imagine he feels something for me. Something good, I hope.

He comes inside, closing the window behind him, and gives me his usual smirk. He's dripping wet from the heavy rain. My eyes follow a droplet as it makes its way down his arm. I have a sudden urge to bend forward and lick it away, but he's standing too far for me to do so.

"Hello there, o'chibi-san…" he greets me, his voice light as ever. His violet eyes have a playful and mischievous, but at the same time dangerous, glint as he watches me. He looks like a predator observing its prey, his gaze attentive, sharp and merciless, as if he's ready to attack me any second, should I decide on a wrong move. He's always like that, never relaxed. He comes and he goes as he pleases, does what he likes. He decides if he wants to be gentle or rough with me. Usually he ends up being rough. I think it's something about showing me who's in control. Who's on top. But it's obvious. He should know it anyway.

And he does, certainly, but he never gets tired of pointing it out to me. He could overpower me anytime. He wants me to feel small and helpless; he wants me to do whatever he says. But I'd do it all anyway, whether or not he forced me to. That's how despicable I am. That's how low I've sunk. That's why I love him and hate myself. He makes me feel like I can't really make a difference, like it doesn't matter if I don't even try, because I'd never be good enough to manage anyway. With him, I'm dancing on the edge of a knife every second, but in some weird way, the way he's so powerful… in a sick, twisted way, I feel safe in his arms. It's a false feel of security, because he could kill me any moment, but somehow it feels safe to know that my life is in the hands of someone strong like him. I will live until he makes the decision to kill me. I don't know how to explain it better. I won't die from anyone else's hand but his, he won't let anyone else kill me. He wants the "honor" for himself, he tells me. But only after he has broken me thoroughly. After he gets enough of tormenting me.

I wonder if he'll be violent tonight. I've only just had time to heal from our last time, and I still have a faint bruise in my thigh from last week. Officially, we haven't met in a couple of months, but behind other people's backs, behind Al's back, I've seen him almost every week.

Every week I half dread and half anticipate he's next visit. Today's Sunday. I hope he won't be too rough. I have to go to work tomorrow. Monday won't be a good day. I'll be depressed and angry. I'll feel drained and hollow. Disappointed in myself for not being able to resist him. I hate him so much. I hate that sneer he's giving me right now, as he clearly understands my pattern of thought. He's gotten used to our little routine too. He takes a step towards me, raising his hand over his head. I wonder if he's going to hit me. I close my eyes, but the blow never comes. He's playing with me. I figure, maybe he won't be too violent tonight. Maybe he's feeling a little more kind right now. I don't understand him. He says he doesn't have a soul, but how can that be when he so clearly feels rage and mirth, like I do? I open my eyes to look into his.

"Envy…" my voice is husky as I breathe his name, and he looks pleased at the sound of it. I guess I do sound sort of out of breath. Dazed. But that's what he does to me. I can't help it. I wish I could. I'd give anything for a chance to go back in time, to return to the first time he approached me, but of course it's impossible.

That time, we were fighting like we always do, but on this occasion I was alone. There was no Al or Izumi to help me. No Roy or Riza or the other military clowns. I was alone. Naturally, he beat me, and while my ego was screaming my ears off inside my head for my pitiful defeat, the rational side of my mind was sure that I was going to die. I had heard him say before that he couldn't kill me yet, but I was too upset to remember such things. I was on the ground, he was on top of me, ready to deliver the final blow. But just as I was sure he was going to deliver the final blow, I felt those - nowadays so very familiar - lips and tongue on mine. He kissed me. Hard. He tasted like blood and suffering. He tasted empty and painful. He tasted sad and frightening.

That time, I didn't know what to think. I panicked. I tried to push him away, but as I've pointed out, he can overpower me anytime. So I lay as still as I could and a few moments later, I passed out. I remember waking up in a hospital, Al by my side. I didn't tell him about the kiss. Of course. I'm glad I had that much sense. Things would've only gotten overly complicated.

Winry was angry at me because I'd broken my automail again, but I didn't really care. I was confused. But as I felt horrified and disgusted by what that homunculus had done, at the same time I felt drawn. I can't explain it. I can't really explain anything. He's never actually told me why he comes to me. He says he wants to disgrace me and break me, but I just can't find it in myself to believe that's all. It must be my wishful thinking. He's too sick to care about anybody. He's a monster. A monster that I pathetically grew to love. Everything just happened. It just came to be. I was drawn. And I was too weak to resist.

Just as I am now. My gaze follows another droplet as it slides down his white stomach. It's ironic that he is so much more powerful than I am, even though he doesn't seem have even nearly as much muscle as I do. But he's not human. He doesn't follow the same rules we do, and neither does his body.

He looks so perfect that I feel envious. Funny. He'd laugh if I told him that. I need to feel his touch, I need to touch him. So I take the few steps separating us and crouch down, pressing my fingers against his smooth, wet skin, and lick away the teasing droplet. He doesn't move or say anything. His body feels so cold I get the urge to embrace him to warm him up, but I restrain myself from doing so. His green hair is drenched, hanging heavily over his face and shoulders, wetting me too as the droplets keep falling. I press my forehead lightly against his chest, seeking some kind of warmth. He stays still, as if curious to see what I'll do next. Somehow my eyes feel hot. I don't know why, it's not a familiar sensation for me. I wish he'd love me. I wish I wouldn't have to be the only one to suffer.

Finally, after a while, he pushes me off. My eyes hurt. I look at him uncertainly - he's always the one to take the first step. My eyes feel extremely hot and moist right now but for some reason I can't recognize this feeling. I feel something wet on my cheek suddenly. Slowly I lift a finger to wipe away the drop. Envy must've soaked me too. But before I reach the droplet with my finger, Envy grabs my hand, a confused and sort of angry look on his face. I gaze at him, puzzled. Why is he looking at me like that? I open my eyes to speak but he beats me to it.

"Ed, why are you crying?" he asks me on a strange tone of voice. I gasp at his words. Crying? I'm not crying, am I?

"What do you mean crying? I don't cry," I reply stupidly, even as I feel the tears trickling down my face. Now I recognize the burning sensation in my eyes. It's been so long since I last cried. I think about doing it quite often, but I haven't actually cried in years, not since the Barry the Chopper case. Immediately I feel ashamed and stupid for breaking down in front of Envy. But I can't help but cry even more at this thought. Isn't this exactly what he wanted? To break me? Well, now he's done it. Will he kill me now? No… I doubt it. I still haven't "fulfilled my purpose", as he sometimes says. I wonder, will he just leave me now?

"Why are you crying?" he repeats, his voice growing cold, a frown appearing on his beautiful face. I don't know why he suddenly can't read me like he normally does. Usually, he knows my emotions better than I do myself. I can't really answer him, because I don't know. The tears just... keep coming. He looks at me hard, a demanding expression setting on his scowling face.

"I… I don't know," I whisper, wishing he'd stop looking at me like that. I've never been able to read him well. It's frustrating. And exhausting. And suddenly, only a second later, I find myself being roughly pressed against the wall, Envy's fingertips digging painfully on my shoulders, bruising my flesh.

"Well, think again, Ed, I want a better answer!" he snaps at me moodily, speaking in my left ear. Shivers run down my spine as I feel his breath on my skin. I close my eyes, willing the tears to go away. They won't, unfortunately. I don't understand why Envy is suddenly so upset. He's always been very eager to make me feel pain. He's been inside me many times, giving me as much agony as he gives me pleasure, and when he leaves I still feel him in me. I feel the ache and I feel the emotional pain. He's caused me a wound comparable to the one caused by the death of my mother. He should be pleased now. Pleased that he's made me cry like this. From the very first time I was with him, I've been weeping inside. Doesn't he see that? In the end, what difference does it make whether I cry real tears or those in my heart?

"Envy…" my throat hurts and my eyes are burning, but I force myself to continue. "I… have no… idea… why I'm crying," I manage to say between my sobs. He doesn't move. He's so still that I'm afraid to even guess what he's thinking.

"Well, stop it!" he exclaims suddenly, digging his fingers even deeper, almost deep enough to draw blood. I could use my automail arm to throw him off or kick him with my automail leg, but I choose to endure the pain, because I know that if I resist, he'll do worse. I don't understand him at all right now. Why does he care if I cry? He should be overjoyed.

"You're not… exactly helping," I try to sound a bit more like my pessimistic, sarcastic self, as I speak between my sobs. I wait for the blow I'm sure I'll be receiving for that one, but to my utmost surprise, instead of smacking me, he relaxes his hold from painful to a mere tight one, pressing himself close to me. His wet body feels so cold against my own, even trough my clothes.

"Will you stop it now?" he asks in a strange tone of voice for him, unlike anything I've ever heard before. I can still sense his anger and confusion, but there's something there, under it. I bury my face in the base of his neck, ignoring his drenched hair. I'm sure he feels the hot tears on him trough the thin layer of his top. My hands find their way around his waist, in a tight, oddly desperate embrace.

"Ed, stop it," I can hear the frustration in his voice clearly now. He withdraws from my hug in a sudden manner. He looks half angry, half annoyed. But there's a hint of something, somewhere behind those two dominating emotions. I answer directly to his violet gaze, my eyes still watering. Suddenly, he slaps me hard, the sound of the impact of his hand echoing slightly from the walls of my room. My face hurts. I stay in the position his blow has left me. I feel so helpless and empty. Now I remember why I never cry. It doesn't help anything. It doesn't even make me feel any better. It's the other way around. I wish Envy would just kiss me and fuck me and then go away already.

"Envy, please don't…" I whisper softly. This is how low I've sunk. I'm pleading in the arms of my worst enemy. All the bottled up self loathe suddenly surfaces and I lower my eyes in shame, my blond bangs covering my expression from his view.

And then, very suddenly, I feel his warm lips claim mine in a fierce kiss. He tastes like confusion and anger, hurt and passion. He tastes like himself. Safe and familiar, two words I never thought I would be using while referring to the unpredictable, cruel sin. And I hate him, because I know all this warmth he gives me right now will eventually turn into coldness and pain. I fear the grip he has on me. If he told me to get down on my knees, right then and there, I'd do it.

He licks my eyes, wiping the tears away with his tongue. Then he kisses my face in various places from my jaw to my hairline. Small kisses, gentle and almost loving. They confuse me so badly. He isn't supposed to care. He continuously tells me he hates me. He always remembers to remind me of how pathetic I am. But then, why the hell do his touches feel like… they're almost meant for my comfort?

As if he's not sure what to do.

By now my clothes are wet too, and very uncomfortable. Envy notices this quickly and swiftly, with experienced hands, gets rid of my shirt along with his own, leaving both of us topless. His not that much taller than I am, but at this close proximity, he has to actually bend his neck a bit to be able to look into my eyes directly. I love the way his bare skin feels against mine.

He presses his crotch against mine and I moan in pleasure, not even bothering to try hiding it. I don't have my pride anymore. He knows how he makes me feel when he does that.

He has moved from my face to my neck and collarbones now, the kisses growing more passionate and demanding. He too makes low moans, as I press even closer to him. His hands fly all over my body, increasing the heat that has taken over me. I hold him as well as I can, and once he separates from me slightly, I start working eagerly on his neck and chest. The self loathe still burns my eyes, but I force myself to forget about it, concentrating on what is happening right now. I hate him. And I love him. I can't decide which emotion dominates me. But right now, it's all about lust and pleasure. It's about our desire. It's about our sin. I want him to make love to me. I really, really, love him. I'm drawn to him, addicted to him.

Envy moans deeply as my hand brushes against his groin. I can feel how much he wants me. I'm not any better though, my pants are starting to feel agonizingly tight. I wonder, what would he do if I suddenly refused him? Most likely, I figure, he'd just take me anyway. He knows I can't really say no to him. Now his hands have wondered down, under my remaining layers of clothing, touching me, making me want to come right then and there. But that's a silly thought. He wouldn't let me, and besides, I wouldn't even want to. Somehow, we move to my bedside, and he presses me down on my back. He then pulls my pants off and removes his own, leaving us both completely naked.

I crave for him, and I already want him on top of me. I want to cry out his name and love him like no one else can. I want to tell him I'm his, but I never have and never will do such a thing. We both know this isn't permanent. I doubt he'd even want to have a real relationship with me. He says he hates me. I'm worthless. I don't think he'll be too sorry when this is all over, this thing of ours. When he kills me. I'm probably just a good fuck for him. I don't ask for much, but I give him every part of myself. Pathetic, isn't it? But I can't help myself, and my lack of self-control makes me sick. I feel terrible for committing and hiding such a terrible act behind Al's back. Sometimes I even feel like dying. Envy doesn't love me. Usually he's violent and rough with me, leaving me behind with more than just a few blacks and blues when he leaves. I can only remember a few occasions he's been gentle. But somehow, however, tonight he seems different. He's tender and considerate, as if he's trying to take care more of my pleasure than his. Very unlike Envy's usual means.

I wish he'd show this kind of care towards me every time I see him. I must sound like lovesick little puppy. Hmph. This is my first love. And what a bittersweet one it is.

He graces every part of my skin with his soft lips and I almost feel guilty for letting him do all the work. But as I begin to get up, he merely pushes me down.

"Envy!" I moan loudly as his hand touches my private parts. He's pleased at my reaction. Lifting his face from my stomach where his kisses have travelled, he grins in his usual manner and goes back to work, his hand working between my legs, lifting me into a different level of pleasure. It lasts as long as it lasts, but finally I can't take it anymore and climax. Wiping his hand on my sheets, he now comes properly on top of me and drowns me in another passionate kiss. Why is he like this? What is so different about tonight? Because I cried? Is that what this is all about?

"Envy—" I start but he interrupts me, placing a finger on my lips.

"You're awfully vocal tonight, ne chibi?" He smirks at me, the predatory look returning to his violet eyes again. Annoyance raises its head inside me. He's teasing me!

"WHO ARE YOU—" he blocks my angry rant with a fierce kiss, forcing his tongue inside my mouth. My fury fades away as fast as it appeared and I'm lost in his kiss, until our crotches press against each other without warning, and we both moan. Envy is acting so strangely tonight. Normally, his in control of his every movement, every sound he makes, but tonight, he seems somehow… a lot more careless. Unguarded. Almost loving. But that's impossible. He is simply unable to experience such an emotion.

"Lift your hips," he tells me and I eagerly obey. He places a pillow under my back. Another thing he's never bothered to do before. He never tries to make me feel comfortable. What's going on with him?

And finally, finally, he positions himself and thrusts. He doesn't bother to prepare me, he never has. Another cruel quirk of his. One of his many ways of showing me who's on top and who's the receiving party. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, and I can hear my voice rising, almost but not quite screaming, in agony. Thank kami Al's not here. It hurts so much, and I can't help but voice it. Envy doesn't stop his thrusts though, and I've felt worse pains anyway. I try to hold on to him as he moves on top of me. I watch him, his frowning face as he picks up his pace, and I want to hold him. He's so horrible and cruel, a killing machine without a conscience, but yet, I've fallen in love with him.

Gradually, the pain fades away, leaving the pleasure as the dominant sensation. I try to hold him close, but it's somewhat hard from our positions. I want to touch him, taste him, cry out his name and tell him I'm his. Tell Envy I love him. But I can't so that. And that's where the feeling of emptiness and being drained stems from. I want to cry again. He's given me a pain comparable to the one caused by my mother's death, and everything else that has followed. He's a drug. He's my sin and shame, but I love him. And I hate loving him.

Where's the equivalent exchange here? What have I gained to receive such a wound, a scar that I'll never be able to erase? A scar that will one day be the end of me. I'll die in the hands of the one I love. He's so cold, and even right now, as he makes love to me, I feel all my hate towards him melt away. Right now as he's inside me, there's no him and I, no Envy and no Edward. There are not two bodies, but one. Right at this moment, we are one; we are joined, as one single being. Connected out of desire, and in my part, love. We move in a perfect, practiced sync, sweating and panting, all over each other. As the pace grows faster, our moans and cries get louder, and finally we reach the peak and climax.

He collapses partially on top of me. But surprisingly, he doesn't get up immediately, as he mostly does, but stays there. My heart flutters as I feel his breath against my shoulder. This is where the hard part starts. I've already learned the former, the lovemaking, but after that… He nearly never stays much longer, and when he does, we tend to get into arguments. And that leads to him beating me up and me in a world of pain. I don't know what to say to him, really. I don't know anything about him, except that he's a homunculus shape shifter and a maniac killer with a hazardous temper and bad manners. What possibly could I say to him? I only want to enjoy his presence, I don't need words. But Envy does. He doesn't like silence. So alas, we can't stay like this, close and peaceful, forever.

He starts the conversation.

"So, err… I like your sheets."

What the hell?

"Eh… thanks," I reply shortly. What the hell is up with him tonight? Seeing me in tears shouldn't affect him this much, and most certainly not this way. Wasn't that his original goal when he started this whole thing all those months ago? He wanted to break and disgrace me. He hates me. He wants me to suffer and he wants to kill me with his own bare hands. The only reason I'm still alive is that he and the other maniac murderers still have use for me; I haven't filled my purpose yet. Isn't that right? What the hell is up with the small talk then?

"I'm too tired now, but next time I'll give you a blowjob."

…what?

"T-thanks…" I stutter and blush. What the fuck is going on in his head? Is he high?

"Oh little Ed, so charming when you blush," he mocks me, a smug smile playing on his lips. Instantly, my mind starts boiling. I am neither little, small nor short!!

"WHO ARE—" and yet again, Envy surprises me completely and I'm pulled into another battle of tongues. And I'm losing. We lay tangled in my sheets, and my heart leaps in joy. I melt into his kiss, laying under him, and try to forget that in a few moments, he'll be leaving once more, and the next time he comes, he'll probably be back to his old habits. Cold, cruel, distant and merciless. Violent and vulgar, as always. Or we might engage in a fight, due to our different point of views concerning the law and moral. Yeah, it's easy to categorize us like that. I'm good and he's evil. Though that's pretty much how it is.

I want to be lost in this moment forever. Great, I sound like a lovesick puppy again. But that's pretty much what I am. I'm in love with a monster.

Envy pulls off from the kiss and settles for lying next to me, gazing out of the window where the rain is still falling.

"I'd hate to get wet all over again," he merely says, but I can't help but gasp silently. I turn to look at him and he shifts his eyes on me as well, waiting. He and I both know he could stay even without a permission, but the way he asks me… I can't help but smile a little. And he knows already what I would say, so I don't bother to say it aloud. The less we talk the better. For me at least. The fact that he's found a moment of peace here, next to me, is enough for me tonight. Envy has never stayed over before.

"But this doesn't mean anything," he still has to remind me before he curls up against me and yawns tiredly. "I still hate you. That will never change."

"I know," I reply, sighing soundlessly. "The feeling is mutual," I lie with a heavy heart. But right now, I want to forget about all the bad things of the world and of our thing and concentrate on this moment. This night. Possibly the only opportunity for me to fall asleep together with the one I love. I close my eyes and let myself be taken by sleep. I want to remember this feeling forever. Envy will be gone by the morning, without a doubt, so I want to memories and always remember what it was like to be held tenderly, lovingly, by the one I love.

---

Please leave a review!


End file.
